Blue Skies

There are no blue skies here,
Not much outside our closed doors.
Inside, we breathe, we breed, we thrive.
Inside - we are rotten.

There are no blue skies here,
Just heat, flashes and rust.
Our eyes are made for dark rooms
Not for the world of dust.

There are no blue skies here,
But blue light’s abound and blinding.
Mirrors on the wall, the same - aren't we all?
Looking for ways of dying.

Reviews

[T.V.Kimble]

I like this one a lot, my poetry also tends to not be all roses and rainbows, I think I can relate.

[Solar]

'But blue light’s abound and blinding' conjured up an image of neon-lit nihilism.

The poem hits the mark. Sees through the blue-sky thinking, the rosy-tinted glass it breaks.